Perfectly Imperfect
by By the Sounding Sea
Summary: An AU story where Beca and Jesse meet in high school instead of college. Jesse tries to befriend Beca and break through her walls and eventually discovers the secrets that she's taken such pains to hide from the world.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey! Decided to try my hand at a _Pitch Perfect _FanFiction because I absolutely love the movie. It's very AU, which I'm usually not a huge fan of, but I thought it would be fun for this. I already have four more chapters written, so stay tuned for the real story, not just exposition, in a few days. Enjoy!**

* * *

><p><em>Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep!<em>

My eyes started to flutter.

_Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep!_

A quiet groan escaped my lips.

_Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep!_

"Oh, shut up," I mumbled, thrusting my hand on top of the noisy device sitting on my nightstand. Silence filled my dark room, marred only by the red numbers on the clock reading 7:00 AM. It took some time, but I managed to roll out of bed. My eyes squinted shut the second after I turned on the lamp. I fought through the pain and headed over to my closet, hoping my eyes would adjust to the light soon.

After I exchanged by pajama pants and tank top for a gray shirt layered underneath an open purple, plaid shirt and a pair of torn-up jeans and tied my beat up black Converse around my feet, I entered the bathroom attached to my room and brushed my mid-length brown hair before I broke out the makeup. After heavily lining my eyes with black eyeliner, sweeping my eyelids with dark gray eye shadow, and darkening my long lashes with black mascara, I moved on to my jewelry, stacked up by the side of my sink. I began with my black, swirl, gauge earrings, then moved on to my other ear piercings. Once my ears were taken care of, I put some twisted black jelly bracelets around both of my wrists, hooked a choker necklace with a small star pendant around my neck, and slid a few silver rings onto my fingers. I looked at myself in the mirror when I was finished, satisfied. No matter what anyone said, I liked my look, and I thought it really suited me.

Once I was dressed, I went downstairs as quickly as possible, trying to get out of the house before my family woke up. I grabbed a banana on my way out the door to the garage. I finished it in five bites as I climbed into my ancient maroon Ford Probe and began my half hour daily drive from Sandy Springs, Georgia to Atlanta. After finding my assigned spot in my school's parking lot, I got out of my car with my backpack and headed into the large, elaborate building that was Barden Academy.

Barden Academy was widely regarded as one of the most rigorous schools in Atlanta. I never wanted to go to high school there. I wanted to go to Riverwood High School, the public school fifteen minutes from my house instead of half an hour. I wanted to go to a high school that didn't give a shit about what I looked like. I wanted to go to a high school that didn't care if I passed or failed or got into college or dropped out entirely. Instead, my dad forced me into Barden, so I could get a "real" education and get into a "real" college and have a "real" career, never once listening to what _I _want.

As I walked through the building towards my first class, English, I got the same stares that I got every morning. Almost every single aspect about my appearance went against the school dress code, something I actually enjoyed, but it certainly set me apart from every other girl in school, with their neck-high dresses, calf-length skirts, pearl post earrings, and makeup so subtle, they might as well not wear any. Much the administration's dismay, I never changed my ways, no matter how many demerits they gave me.

As usual, due to my lengthy morning commute, I walked into English class five minutes late. My teacher, Mrs. Kirk, had already started class and glared at me when I walked in.

"Beca. I see you've decided to grace us with your presence this morning," she said stiffly. "Need I remind you that denim clothing is prohibited during the academic day?"

"No, ma'am. I've got that pretty deep in my brain," I said with a sugary smile as I took my seat. Mrs. Kirk rolled her eyes and continued the lesson. While she babbled on about the Shakespeare assignment, I snuck my earbuds out of my backpack, placed each bulb in my ear, plugged them into my phone, and spent the rest of class listening to music.

After English, I had to switch languages for Chinese class. Studying Chinese was my dad's idea. I wanted to take Spanish to fulfill my foreign language requirement because I thought it would be easier and more useful. But Daddy Dearest insisted that learning Chinese would be better for when the Chinese take over the world or whatever.

After Chinese, I had biology, followed by lunch. I went to the dining hall and went through the line to get my greasy spaghetti and sat down at what I had declared to be _my_ table, the one right next to the big window in the corner. I brought my big headphones out of my bag, which I much preferred to earbuds, and plugged them into my phone so I could listen to more music while I ate by myself.

I've never been the type of girl who has a lot of friends. It's gone back from elementary school. I just never seemed to click with the other kids at first. When I got to middle school, I guess I just decided to stop trying. I was doing just fine on my own. People are messy and complicate things, and I didn't need or want any more messy. Though I'll be the first to admit that the limited socialization I had growing up along with my broken family was the reason why I was so jaded.

After lunch, I reluctantly took off my headphones and went to my US history class, followed by calculus. My final class of the day was the only one that I truly enjoyed, Electronic Music. My life revolved around music. Whenever I was upset, even when I was a kid, music always made me feel better. When I got to middle school, I started to realize that I could do more than _listen_ to music; I could _make_ music. I found all kinds of computer programs to use and started making what I like to call mash-ups: two or more different songs meshed together to create one, unique track. My mash-ups had gotten more sophisticated as I got through middle and high school, to the point where I had discovered that music was my calling. It had been my dream since eighth grade to move out to Los Angeles after high school, get a go-nowhere job at a record label, start paying my dues, and eventually become a music producer. But according to my father, a music producer is not a "real" job. I had to waste four years of my life in college before I could go out and start doing what I really wanted to do. It made me so angry that he thought he had the right to tell me what I could and couldn't do. Being the second piece of the puzzle of creating me did not automatically make him my dad.

After school got out, I went out to the parking lot as quickly as I could before some dumbass administrator could see how I was dressed and call me into their office for the millionth time. Instead of going back to Sandy Springs, I drove from school to the Steak 'n Shake I worked at in Atlanta. I parked my car and headed inside to change into my uniform before I started my shift. I had been working at Steak 'n Shake for three years, trying to save money to buy new pieces of equipment and to move out to LA on my own once I graduated. Even after three years of work, all I had managed to get was a new keyboard and microphone, and three hundred and fifty dollars. It was certainly a start, but that wouldn't cover a month's rent in Los Angeles. I certainly had a long way to go.

After I got off work, I drove back to Sandy Springs and parked my car in the garage of my dad's house before I went inside where Sheila, my stepmother, and my two half-sisters, Molly and Madison, were sitting at the kitchen table drinking Juicy-Juice and eating apple slices. At eight years old, my identical twin half-sisters were in third grade, and they were already the biggest divas on earth. Dad and Sheila treated them as if they were real princesses, giving them anything they ever wanted. They hated me and I hated them; it was the perfect relationship.

I walked through the kitchen quickly, passing my stepmother and half-sisters without any of them saying a single word to me. It was as if I hadn't even walked in. This was so typical, it almost didn't bother me anymore. I knew they didn't love me, that I was only there because a judge said I had to be there. I couldn't wait until I turned eighteen in November, so I could legally move out on my own and start living my life.

I went up the stairs and into my bedroom, closing the door behind me. I hastily did my homework, then I sat down at my desk and continued working on the new track I had started the night before. I got so lost in the music, I didn't even realize that I had been sitting at my computer for over an hour until my growling stomach reminded me that it was six o'clock: dinner time. I saved my work and headed downstairs to the kitchen where Molly, Madison, and my dad were seated at the table while Sheila was putting salad on everyone's plates.

"Hey, Bec," Dad greeted me with a smile as I approached the table. I didn't respond; instead, I stared at the table, seeing only four plates, not five. Dad seemed to notice, too, and looked up at his second wife.

"Sheila, where's Beca's plate?" he asked.

"Well, you never know if she's going to show up or not," Sheila said defensively. "I didn't want to get a plate out if she wasn't going to come."

"Whatever," I muttered as I grabbed my own plate and silverware and set it on the table in the seat next to my dad.

"Madison, would you like to say grace?" Dad asked his new daughter sweetly once everyone had been served some pasta.

"Okay, Daddy," Madison said with a syrupy smile. I rolled my eyes and kept my hands unfolded and my eyes open while they all bowed their heads and clasped their hands. "Bless us, oh Lord, for these thy gifts which we are about to receive. From thy bounty through Christ, our Lord. Amen."

"Amen," Dad, Sheila, and Molly said as the made the sign of the cross. I had been raised Catholic, but I denounced my religion and became an atheist several years before. It's just hard to be anything else when it feels like you don't have anyone in your life who really, truly cares about you.

"So Beca, how was your day?" Dad asked me. I was a little surprised, as he didn't always acknowledge me during dinner. I was sure he was fishing for information.

"Fine," I replied.

"School was good?"

"Fine."

"Homework going well?"

"Fine."

"And college applications?"

"Just stellar," I said sarcastically with a sweet smile.

"Where are you applying?" Dad asked.

"I was thinking about applying to I Don't Give a Shit University," I said with heavy snark.

"Rebeca, for the millionth time, don't that kind of language around my children!" Sheila exclaimed.

"Sheila, for the millionth time, _don't_ call me Rebeca," I said, my voice low and dark.

"I'm completely serious, Beca. Where are you going to apply?" Dad said, his voice firm.

"I was completely serious, too, Dad. I honestly don't give a shit," I told him. "I'll apply to whatever college you want. That doesn't mean I'll get it, and it _certainly_ doesn't mean that I'll go."

"Are you worried about getting into college?" Dad asked.

"I think I would have to _want_ to go to college to be worried about getting into college."

"Do you think your grades will allow you to be accepted to a legitimate college?" Dad rephrased with a sigh.

"Oh! Why didn't you say that?" I said sardonically. "I think my grades are a little below Harvard's standards."

"Beca, 'legitimate college' is not synonymous to 'Harvard,'" Dad said. "I'm not saying you need to go to Harvard. I'm not even saying you need to go to Emory. I'm just saying that you need to go to a respectable, four-year institution of higher education. You need to start researching schools and getting your applications in, or we're going to have problems. Do I make myself clear?"

"Oh, just like crystal," I said. Dad sighed, then gave up on me and moved on to his new daughters, asking them what they learned in school and being the dad I always wished he had been to me.

After I finished my dinner, I rinsed my plate and put it in the dishwasher before I went back to my room and continued working on my computer with the lights out. At nine, someone knocked on my door. I was shocked; no one ever came to talk to me.

"What?" I said. The door opened, letting light spill into the room. I swiveled around in my rolling chair and saw Sheila standing in the doorway.

"Good God, why is it so dark in here?" she said snottily.

"What do you want, Sheila?" I asked as I turned back to my computer, uninterested in her.

"Turn that noise down. The girls are trying to sleep," Sheila said.

"That 'noise' is called music. I know you're not familiar with anything somewhat fun or pleasant, but—"

"I am so _sick_ of your attitude," Sheila said harshly. "Turn that noise off so my daughters can sleep." She slammed the door shut, engulfing the room in darkness again.

"Yes, ma'am," I muttered as I grabbed my headphones and plugged them into my computer before I went back to work.

I continued to work on my mash-ups until I looked at the clock in the corner of my screen and realized that it was two in the morning. Knowing I had to be up in four hours, I took a quick shower, changed into my pajama pants and tank top, then climbed into bed and fell asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning, I went through the same routine until I found myself sitting in English class again. When Mrs. Kirk began her rant about things I couldn't have cared less about, I was going to put my earbuds in and tune her out, but I was distracted by a certain boy sitting a few desks down from me. It wasn't the first time I had noticed him, but it was the first time I noticed him staring at me. He was a scrawny kid with skin almost as pale as mine. I realized that he had been staring at me for a decent amount of time. When he saw me match his gaze with a perplexed expression, his face immediately turned towards his book. I rolled my eyes, thinking he was such a weirdo, then went back to my music.

I continued listening to music at throughout my two other morning classes until lunch rolled around. Towards the end of the break, I felt someone's eyes staring at me. I turned around and saw the boy from English class looking at me a few tables down where he was sitting alone. Again, when his eyes met mine, he looked down towards his sandwich, pretending it had never happened.

After lunch, I made my way through the rest of the day before I went to work for two hours, then drove home and immediately retreated to my room. After finishing my homework, I started working on a mash-up until it was time for dinner. Dad must have talked to Sheila, because when I got to the kitchen, I saw five plates on the table. Either completely uninterested or not wanting to deal with my snark, no one, even Dad, said a single word to me at dinner. I pushed food around on my plate throughout the meal, wishing he would take some interest in my passion instead of just taking interest in forcing me to do things I didn't want to do.

The rest of my evening was spent as usual: working on mash-ups and listening to music. For a split second while I was working, I wondered what it would be like to spend my free time somewhere other than my dark bedroom in front of a computer screen. I wondered what it would be like to actually have friends. I thought about how my stereotypical, child-of-a-nasty-divorce trust issues ruined my chances of making friends in elementary and middle school, and once you get past those years, the ship has sailed.

I shook my head, getting the thoughts out of my mind. I didn't need people. People were messy and high maintenance. I just needed my computer to have all the fun I wanted.

Most of the time, I had convinced myself of that.

But not at that moment.


	3. Chapter 3

A few days after my spontaneous, momentary pity party, I was at work waiting on a table when I noticed the boy who had been staring at me in English class sitting in a booth, watching me. I gave him a weird look, wondering why the hell he seemed to enjoy staring at me. I wanted to confront him, but knew that my boss would not be pleased with me if I verbally assaulted a customer. I ignored him and focused on getting out of there so I could continue working on a mash-up I was particularly fond of.

Two more days passed, and on each day, that boy was sitting somewhere in the restaurant watching me. It came to the point where I was so weirded out, I just had to confront him. After I changed out of my uniform at the end of my shift, I walked over to his booth and slid in across from him. His eyes grew wide when he saw me.

"Why the hell are you watching me?" I demanded.

"I wasn't—"

"Cut the crap. You've been sitting here for the last three days watching me, and let me tell you, it's pretty damn creepy," I told him. "What do you want from me?"

"Nothing," the boy said.

I rolled my eyes. "Don't waste my time. There are a million better things I could be doing than talking to you. Why do you keep staring at me here and in class?"

"I just…" The boy sighed. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that."

"But _why_ are you doing it?"

"Because…Because…Because I was trying to build up the nerve to talk to you," the boy told me. I was genuinely surprised by his response.

"Talk to me? What for?"

"Just, you know…To get to know you," the boy said.

"You want to get to know me?" I asked, truly dumbfounded by what he was saying. The boy nodded. "Why?"

"Because you seem interesting. Really interesting," the boy said.

"You think I seem interesting?" I asked. He nodded. "What about me makes you think that?"

"I know you march to the beat of your own drum. If you didn't, you would wear dresses and skirts like all the other girls," the boy said.

"That's why you think I'm interesting? 'Cause I wear jeans to school?"

"That's not the _only_ reason," the boy said. "Also because I know you have a story."

"What?"

"You have a story to tell, and I wanted to know what it is. But I knew I would have to build up the courage to talk to you to find out." The boy held out his hand. "Jesse Swanson."

"Beca Mitchell," I said without shaking his hand. I examined him closely as he feebly put his hand down. With his scrawny, pale body, I was pretty sure Jesse was more interested in sitting in front of a computer than running after a ball. But then again, so was I.

"You have many friends, Jesse?" I asked.

"Uh…Not exactly, no," Jesse said, his cheeks turning slightly red.

"Why are you blushing? It's nothing to be ashamed of. I don't have any friends, either," I told him.

"Why not?" Jesse asked.

"Because I don't do that."

"You don't have friends?" Jesse asked. I shook my head. "Well, why not?"

"Because in seventeen years, I haven't met anyone I want to be friends with," I told him.

"Really? Not one person?"

"What can I say? I'm selective," I told him. "Why don't you have friends?"

"Because in seventeen years, I haven't met anyone who wants to be friends with me," Jesse said, reversing my statement. I gave him a small smile. I couldn't put my finger on it, but there was something about him that I liked about him, and I don't like people.

"You wanna get outta here?" I asked Jesse. His eyes opened wide, as if he couldn't believe I was asking him to do something.

"Sure. Where do you want to go?" he said.

"You choose," I told him, interested in seeing where he would take me.

"Well, what do you like to do?" Jesse asked.

"That's for you to find out," I said, enjoying watching him squirm from by enigmatic responses.

"Well…Do you want to hang out at school?"

"Oh, _hell_ no," I responded firmly.

"Oh. Would you want to go to your house?"

"That's another hell no."

"Oh. Well…Do you want to go to the park?" Jesse suggested. I contemplated this for a moment, then nodded.

"Sure. Let's do that," I told him. "You'll have to lead the way. I'm not from Atlanta."

"Neither am I," Jesse told me, "but I know a place. Come with me." He slid out of the booth and we went outside to the parking lot. I followed Jesse in my car to a secluded park just a few miles away. We parked our cars and met up again.

"Where do you want to go?" Jesse asked me.

"Where do _you_ want to go?" I replied.

"Do you want to sit by the pond?" Jesse suggested.

"Sure," I said, then let him lead the way down to a bench between two trees on the edge of a pond.

"No bench," I told him just as he was about to sit.

"Huh?"

"Let's sit on the grass."

"I'm wearing dress pants," Jesse said.

"And there lies one of the millions of problems associated with adhering to the school dress code," I told him. "Ever heard of a washing machine, Jesse? You'll be fine." Jesse sighed, but sat down in the grass next to me.

"What do you want to talk about?" he asked.

"What do you want to talk about?" I responded. Jesse gave me a look. "You really aren't catching on very fast, are you?"

"What do you like to do?" Jesse asked me.

"What do you like to do?" I replied after a moment of contemplation. Jesse sighed.

"You'll laugh at me," he said.

"Why would I laugh at you?" I wondered.

"Because what I like to do is kind of nerdy," Jesse said. "I'm kind of a film geek. I spend most of my time watching movies, particularly sci-fi movies because I like to find the scientific mistakes." He shrugged. "I guess I'm kind of a science geek, too."

"You're right. That is pretty nerdy," I agreed with him. Jesse looked surprised, as if he had expected me to tell him that his activities weren't dorky at all. But I've never been one to sugarcoat things.

"Well…I mean…I can't help what I like," Jesse mumbled.

"Oh, as if no one has a nerdy side of them," I said as I rolled my eyes.

"I bet you don't. You seem so cool," Jesse said.

"Oh, you think so, eh?" I replied. Jesse nodded. "Well, just between you and me, I'm a huge tech geek."

"Really?" Jesse asked, his eyes growing wide. "You don't look like the type."

"Just goes to show how stereotypes are complete, utter bullshit," I said.

"So do you do, like, hack into websites and take computers apart and put them back together and stuff?" Jesse wondered.

"Not exactly. But trust me, I'm really into technology," I told him. "That's part of the reason why I started working at Steak 'n Shake. I wanted to be able to buy new equipment."

"Huh," Jesse said thoughtfully.

"Am I turning out to be different than you thought I would be?" I asked.

Jesse nodded. "Just a little, yeah."

"Appearances can be deceiving," I told him with a playful smile. "So tell me, Jesse. What _were_ you expecting of the oh-so mysterious Beca Mitchell?"

"I thought you would be more terrifying," Jesse said. "You're intimidating, but you're not terrifying."

"You thought I would be terrifying?" I asked, amused. Jesse nodded. "Well, I'm sorry to disappoint."

"No problem," Jesse said. "I also thought you'd be really into music."

"Now why would you think that?" I said.

"Because you're _always_ listening to music," Jesse said. "In class, at lunch. Whenever I see you, you either have headphones or earbuds in."

"You're one for two, Jesse," I told him.

"You like music?" Jesse asked.

"'Like' would be an understatement," I told him. "My life kind of revolves around music. Or, at least, I'd like it to."

"You're so much more interesting than me," Jesse said. "You love music. We could talk for hours about that. I love science. Not much conversation stems from that unless you also like science, which no one seems to. Not to the level I do, at least."

"But you also like movies. You could talk about that with a lot of people," I said. "You think we're complete opposites. We're really not that different from each other, Jesse."

"I like to hear you say that, Beca," Jesse told me with a smile. I smiled back, wondering what the hell was happening with me. I did not interact with people. It was against my life policy. I didn't trust anyone enough to be friends with them. I didn't want to trust Jesse because I knew he would only disappoint me in the end. But as much as I wanted to, I couldn't bring myself to shut him out.

"So do you have any siblings?" Jesse asked, bringing me out of my thoughts.

"Let's not ruin a day by talking about family, okay?" I said, not ready to share that with him.

"Well, okay," Jesse said with a shrug. "You never told me what you like to do."

"Make music," I told him.

"Like, you write your own songs?"

"No. I only play the keyboard," I said.

"Then how do you make music?" Jesse asked. I chewed on my bottom lip as I considered how to respond. I loved the _idea_ of talking about music, but I had never actually done it. The only opinion I had ever heard about my music was that it was stupid from my dad and stepmother. I kept telling myself that they were out-of-touch idiots, but Jesse wasn't. I was a tough girl, but I wasn't sure what I would do if Jesse thought that my music, the thing I wanted to devote my life to, was stupid.

"Tell you what," I finally said. "You and I get to know each other a little more, maybe I'll show you."

"Really? I mean, I would have assumed that you love to talk about your music," Jesse said.

"Well, you know what they say about assumptions," I told him.

"You're a senior, right?" Jesse asked after a moment. I nodded. "What colleges are on your list?"

"You know what would be _really_ awesome?" I said. Jesse shook his head. "If everyone shut the hell up about college."

"Can I assume that you're not a fan of higher education?" Jesse asked.

"There you go with your assumptions again," I said. "I think higher education is fine. I think it's definitely the right choice for most people. But not for everyone. Not for me."

"Why not? Do you think you can't get in?" Jesse asked.

"Oh, I _know _I could get in just about anywhere," I said. "Why would you think I can't get into college?"

"Well, I mean…I just kind of assumed that your grades aren't that good because you don't seem to care that much about school," Jesse said.

"Oh, I don't give a shit about school. But that doesn't mean my grades are bad," I said. "You can not give a shit about school and still be really smart."

"So you have good grades, then?"

"If you think a 4.0 is good, then yeah, I've got good grades."

"Really?" Jesse asked.

"You really thought I was stupid, didn't you?"

"No, I didn't think you were stupid!" Jesse said quickly. "I just thought that you have to care about school to make good grades, that's all."

"Well, you're wrong," I said. "I hate school, but I am really smart. That's all you need to do well."

"I believe you. I just didn't know," Jesse said. "Are your test scores good?"

"I got a thirty-four on the ACT, so yeah, pretty good."

"Beca, you could get in almost anywhere! Why don't you want to go to college?"

"I told you, I don't want to talk about college," I said again.

"Message received," Jesse said, holding his hands up in surrender. "So family, college, music…Any more forbidden topics I should know about?"

"Uh, politics, religion. Baseball. Vegetarianism." I smiled when I saw Jesse's face as he tried to remember everything I was saying. "I'm kidding, you weirdo."

"Oh," Jesse said, blushing a bit.

"You better get used to this if you want to keep hanging out," I told him. Jesse perked up at that.

"You want to keep hanging out?" he asked hopefully.

"Why not?"

"But I thought you don't have friends."

"Things can change, right?" I told him. "Maybe if I get to know you a little more, some of those forbidden topics will be within bounds."

"I'd like to hear about all of them, especially your music," Jesse said.

"Give me your phone," I said.

"Are you gonna put your number in it?" Jesse asked.

"No, I'm gonna chuck it in the pond," I said, rolling my eyes. "Yes, I'm gonna put my number in it. Now give it up." Jesse reached into his pocket and pulled out a plain black iPhone. I handed him my own white one that had a case with a picture of a sound board and headphones on it. Jesse programmed his number into mine, and I put mine in his.

"I'm really excited to hang out with you again, Beca," Jesse told me.

"Me, too," I said, surprised at the truth in my words. "I'll see you later, okay?"

"Maybe tomorrow?" Jesse asked hopefully.

I nodded. "Tomorrow sounds good. I'll text you, okay?"

"Okay," Jesse said. "See you around."

"See ya," I said as I stood up from the grass and headed back to my car, while Jesse waited a few moments longer. I drove back to Sandy Springs and headed into the house. Sheila was sitting in the living room attached to the kitchen with Molly and Madison, watching some horrible Disney Channel show.

"Where have you been?" she asked without looking at me when she heard the door close.

"When did you start caring?" I retorted as I walked past them up the stairs to my room. I did my homework for the next day, then went to working on a new mash-up. I skipped dinner, too focused on my music to want to stop, and didn't go to sleep until four in the morning. Once I was in bed, I was out in seconds.


	4. Chapter 4

The next day at lunch, I had some company. A few minutes after I had settled down at my table and gotten my headphones on, Jesse came over and sat down across from me. I saw his lips move, but I couldn't hear him over the music. I took my headphones off and rested them around my neck.

"What'd you say?"

"I said hello," Jesse told me with a smile.

"Hi," I said, giving him a small smile in return.

"What were you listening to?" Jesse asked.

"Music."

"Now who's underestimating whose intelligence?" Jesse said. I couldn't help but smirk. "Seriously. I want to know what kind of music you like."

"I like rock, alternative, electronic. Stuff like that," I told him.

"I don't listen to those genres very often. In fact, I'm not sure I even know what alternative and electronic music is," Jesse said.

"Do you like to listen to music at all?" I asked.

"Oh, yeah. But I like country music."

"_Country_ music?" I said with an amused smile. "You really are a weirdo, aren't you?"

Jesse smiled back. "Yes, I am. And so are you."

"At least we know it," I said. I glanced over Jesse's shoulder and saw half of the dining hall staring at us.

"What are you looking at?" Jesse asked as he turned around and saw what I saw. "Oh." His face fell when he turned back to me. "You probably don't want to be seen with me, do you?"

"How do you know they're not wondering why _you_ want to be seen with _me_?" I said. "We're both freaks, Jesse, just in very different ways. You are obviously a freak in the best sense of the word, though."

"Obviously?"

"You're a genius freak," I said.

"Well, so are you, Miss 4.0," Jesse said.

"Shh! Don't let that get around," I said sternly.

"I don't understand why you seem to be _ashamed_ of having a perfect GPA," Jesse said.

"I'm not _ashamed_ of it," I said. "I just don't want my dad to find out."

"Why wouldn't you want your dad to know that? He'd be so proud of you."

"It's a long story, and it involves two of the forbidden topics, so let's just put a cap on it for now, okay?"

"Okay, Beca," Jesse said.

"Really?" I asked. "You really don't mind me saying that I won't talk to you about pretty basic things?"

"No. That's just who you are," Jesse said. "I understand that for whatever reason, you're a very private girl who keeps a wall up to guard herself. But I want to work past that wall, earn your trust, and then learn some of the things about you that you seem to take such pains to hide."

"But…why?" I asked, dumbfounded by his answer. "No one, not even people who are supposed to love me more than anything in the world, has ever wanted to keep working until they finally earn my trust. Why are you willing to do that?"

"Same reason I said yesterday," Jesse said. "You're interesting, Beca. You're not like other girls. And I really, _really_ like that about you."

"What do we have here?" a snotty voice said. I looked up and saw Aubrey, one of the most popular girls in school, along with her posse of mean girls and football players, looking down on me and Jesse. I could see Jesse start to clam up, but I was _not _the kind of girl to back away from conflict.

"Screw off, Aubrey," I said with a scowl.

"Who would have thought that the school's biggest nerd and the school's biggest freak would someday get together?" Aubrey said, ignoring me.

"Losers of a feather flock together," Aubrey's sidekick, Chloe, jumped in.

"Are you deaf? I said, get out of here," I said, my anger growing.

"And what if I don't?" Aubrey said.

"You think I wouldn't deck you right now?" I said as I rose to my feet. Aubrey's football player entourage "ooo'ed" at me.

"I think my friends here would take care of you if you did," Aubrey said with a smug smile.

"You think I wouldn't take them out, too?"

"Beca, please," Jesse said, speaking up for the first time. I looked down at him. "They're not worth getting suspended, Beca." I thought for a few moments and realized that he was right.

"Just mind your own goddamn business, Aubrey, got it?" I said to the self-righteous blonde.

"Thank you _so_ much for the suggestion, but I think I'll keep doing whatever I damn well please. See ya." Aubrey blew me a kiss before she and her friends walked away. I rolled my eyes and sat back down.

"You're really not afraid of anything, are you?" Jesse said.

"There are a lot of things to be scared of, Jesse, but Aubrey Posen is _not_ one of them." I rolled my eyes. "That's my half-sisters in ten years."

"You have half-sisters?" Jesse asked, pleased that I had shared something about my family.

"We're not allowed to talk about families, remember?" I said.

"Hey, you brought it up," Jesse said defensively. I glared at him. "Everyone has problems with their family, Beca. Family's never perfect. Mine certainly isn't. I'd like to tell you about it, but not until you lift this ban by telling me about your family first."

I stared at Jesse. Was he right? Was it really such a big deal to tell him about my screwed up family, especially if his was even his was even as remotely complicated as mine?

"There's a certain order to things, Jesse," I told him. "Family is last in the order of things I talk about."

"Okay. What's first? We can start there," Jesse said.

"First is music," I told him. "Follow me to my house after school, okay? I'll show you."

"I'd love to see. Or rather, hear." With that, the bell rang, ending lunch. Jesse and I went our separate ways. At the end of the day, Jesse followed me in his car to my dad's house in Sandy Springs. I met him outside of the garage.

"You have a nice house," Jesse observed.

"It's not my house," I said swiftly. "Listen, when you walk in, don't say a word. Just stay quiet and follow me, okay?"

"Whatever you say," Jesse said, seeming perplexed by my request, but he certainly wasn't going to question it. I led him through the garage to the door and quickly passed through the kitchen to the stairs, sneaking right by Sheila. I led Jesse to my room and quickly shut the door.

"Who was that woman in the living room?" Jesse asked.

"Just my stepmonster," I said dismissively before I gestured to my room. "This is it. Take it all in."

"Your room is cool," Jesse said, admiring the clear Christmas lights strung around the room, providing the only source of illumination. He did a double-take when he saw all of the equipment on my desk.

"Told you I'm a tech geek," I said with a small smile.

"No, it's really cool," Jesse said, taking a few steps closer, but not daring to touch. "What does all this stuff do?"

"Do you really want to know, or do you want to listen to music?" I asked.

"Let's go with music," Jesse answered.

"Move," I said with a small smirk as I gently pushed him aside so I could get to my computer. I entered my password and pulled up the most recent mash-up I had been working on, a combination of an instrumental version of "Titanium" by David Guetta and me singing the lyrics to a song I wrote myself. I got my headphones out of my backpack and plugged them into my computer, not wanting to cause any disturbance that might make someone discover Jesse. I cued up the track, then took a few deep breaths, feeling unexpectedly nervous. I had never shared my music with anyone before. I couldn't believe I was sharing it for the first time with a guy I had met twenty-four hours before, especially a song with _my_ voice. I could have gone with a safer choice, one without my singing or my lyrics, but I really wanted to see Jesse's reaction to that one.

"Um, okay," I said as I removed my headphones to give to Jesse, feeling very shy for once. "So…This is the instrumental part of 'Titanium,' and…that's me singing. So…" I quickly handed him the headphones before I could talk myself out of it. Jesse put them on, and I pressed "play." I watched anxiously as he listened to the intro, thinking about what a horrible idea this was. Jesse liked country music. He wasn't going to like my electronic mash-ups. I was about to take the headphones away from Jesse, but then I saw him smile.

"Beca…This is _really_ good!" he said, talking loudly over the music only he could hear.

"Really?" I said, finally letting out the breath I had been holding. I watched Jesse bob his head to the music as a smile spread over my face. I could tell he wasn't just acting like he liked it. No one can fake liking music; you either do or you don't. And Jesse did.

When the song ended, Jesse took the headphones off and gave them back to me, all smiles.

"That was awesome, and I never listen to that kind of music," Jesse said. "Seriously, Beca, I _really_ liked it."

"Thank you," I said quietly, still feeling vulnerable after sharing the most personal object I had.

"Is that really you singing?" Jesse asked. I nodded. "You're amazing. I would have thought that was a professional."

"Thank you," I said again.

"You okay? You don't seem like yourself," Jesse noticed.

"Yeah, I'm fine," I said. "I've just…I've never shown my music to anyone before, so…"

"Really? I'm the first person to hear your work?" Jesse asked. I nodded. "Beca, this is amazing! Why wouldn't you show it to more people?"

I shrugged and gave him a small smile. "Who else do I have to show it to?"

"Your parents?" Jesse suggested.

I shook my head. "They would never be interested. Sheila would just say it's garbage, and Dad…" I glared at Jesse. "Nice try."

"I had to give it a shot," Jesse said as he handed the headphones back to me. As I reached out to take them, my sleeve rolled up a bit, revealing the four red cigarette burns scattered over my wrist. Jesse noticed immediately.

"What are those, Beca?" he asked, but I knew that he knew.

"Nothing," I told him.

"They look like cigarette burns," Jesse said. "Do you smoke?"

"No."

"Then how'd you get them?"

"Seriously, Jesse, I'll kick you out if you don't stop," I said, my voice low and dark as I glared at him.

"Beca—"

"Shut up!" I snapped harshly. Jesse wasn't stupid. He knew exactly how I had gotten those burns. I was angry at myself for letting them show, and angry at him for knowing even the smallest piece of what had happened.

"I'm sorry," he said softly. By the look in his eyes, I knew he wasn't apologizing for pushing me about the burns. He was apologizing for what had been done to me.

"Stop, Jesse," I said quietly, biting my bottom lip.

"Okay," Jesse said. "Can I ask one question?"

"Be _very_ careful about the next thing that comes out of your mouth."

"I just want to know…Are you safe here?" Jesse asked.

I nodded. "They're assholes, but…they're not that kind of asshole. Those are old and…" I stopped talking when I felt a lump rise in my throat. I wrapped my arms tightly around my waist and looked down at my lap, fighting it off.

"Okay. I'll stop now," Jesse said quietly when he saw how upset I was getting.

"Sorry," I said as I wiped a tear from my eye before it could fall. "I usually don't cry."

"It's okay," Jesse said as if I was insane for apologizing for expressing emotions. It just wasn't something I was used to doing or liked to do.

"Anyway," I said, putting on a fake smile and forcing a small laugh as I wiped a few more tears away.

"Tell me more about your music," Jesse said, trying to distract me. "How do you do that?"

"I, um…I find a track with, um…" I could hardly think straight. The only thing that I could think about that moment was _her_.

"Beca?" Jesse said.

"Yeah," I said as I forced another laugh, hoping it would make the tears stop coming.

"God, Beca, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said anything," Jesse said.

"Yeah, well…It is what it is, right?" I said, followed by another fake laugh. I kept telling myself over and over again that I was not going to cry. I didn't cry, especially not in front of people I hardly knew. It wasn't working.

"I guess this is why you don't like to talk about family," Jesse said.

I nodded. "Part of it. A big part of it. But I really…I really don't want to talk about it, Jesse, okay?"

"Okay. But if you ever do want to talk about it, know that I'm willing to listen," Jesse said.

"Thank you," I said quietly. "So anyway…"

"Yeah," Jesse said. We met each other's eyes for a few moments, then I quickly looked down towards my lap. I felt so ashamed, and knowing that he knew what he knew, I could barely look at him.

"Beca?" Jesse said. "Beca, what's wrong?"

"I wish you didn't know," I whispered.

"What'd you say?"

"I said, I wish you didn't know," I told him, speaking a bit louder.

"I _don't_ know," Jesse said. "All I know is that you have some burns."

"But that's _not_ all you know, Jesse."

"Sure it is. You didn't say anything. Everything I may or may not think is just an assumption, and you know what they say about assumptions," Jesse said. I looked up and saw the kindness in his eyes, something I hadn't had directed at me in a long, _long_ time. I smiled at him.

"Thank you," I said.

"No problem. So tell me how this music stuff works."

I spent the next two hours showing Jesse all of my equipment and explaining how it worked. When I started to show him some of my computer programs, he got really excited when he saw the sound waves and found something he could apply physics to.

"You're such a weirdo," I told him when he tried to explain the mathematical formula that went into the sounds waves that were bouncing on my screen.

"Aren't we all?" Jesse smiled at me. "I should probably get going, but I had a _lot_ of fun hanging out with you, and I love you're music."

"Thanks, Jesse. You don't know how much that means to me," I told him. "I'll see you later?"

"Sounds good. Bye, Beca." Jesse waved goodbye to me before he let himself out. I spun around to face my computer again and went back to work on my current mash-up.

While I was mixing sounds, I looked down at my keyboard and noticed my burns. I exhaled as I pulled my sleeves down again. I hoped their came a day when I found someone I trusted enough to share everything I had wanted to just spill my guts about for years. But today was not the day.


	5. Chapter 5

I woke up the next morning feeling like shit. I knew I wasn't sick; it wasn't the physical kind of shit. It was the emotional kind of shit, the "there's a thousand pounds dragging me down" kind of shit. It was the kind of shit I was even more familiar with than the physical kind. It was depression.

I had struggled with depression since I was nine. Years before, when I thought that he might care about me, I told my dad how much it was affecting me, but Sheila declared that I wasn't depressed, that I was just lazy and was looking for an excuse to sleep. And if Sheila says something, it _must_ be the truth. So it went untreated.

The depression wasn't constant. It came and went, and there was usually some kind of trigger for it. I knew exactly what the trigger for it was that time. It was talking about what had happened with Jesse the day before. It was the nightmare that that conversation had provoked, where _she_ was smiling maliciously at me as it got darker and darker…

I shook my head. Thinking about my nightmare certainly wasn't going to make anything better.

I turned to the digital clock on my bedside table and realized that I had slept through my alarm; it was 7:50, ten minutes before school started. Not in the best state of mind to go do something that made me want to kill myself on a normal day, I pulled the blankets over my head and fell back asleep, hoping to spend most of what was sure to be a horrible day unconscious.

I was awoken an unknown length of time later by the sound of someone pounding on my bedroom door. I slowly opened my eyes and heard the voice of my visitor.

"Beca!" Dad said from the other side of the wall. "Beca, I know you're in there! Open the door!" I rolled over and pulled the blankets over my eyes.

"Beca! Beca, I'm coming in!" I heard the doorknob twist, and my father's footsteps quickly approaching my bed. I tried to pretend I was asleep, but he wasn't buying it.

"Beca," he said, shaking my shoulder roughly. "Beca, sit up and face me."

"What could you possibly want from me?" I muttered into my pillow.

"What I want is your attention and an explanation. Sit up," Dad said sternly. The longer I did nothing, the more pissed I could tell he was getting. He finally pulled my blankets away from me, making my eyes squint shut since he had turned on the overhead light. I reluctantly sat up.

"Funny, this sure doesn't look like Barden Academy," he said sarcastically.

"What do you want?" I said emotionlessly.

"Are you kidding? Why aren't you in school, Beca?" Dad demanded.

"Woke up late. Didn't see a reason," I told him truthfully.

"Beca, what do you think a college is going to say when they see that you skip school?"

"Okay, A, colleges don't get attendance records," I began, holding up a finger for each point. "B, I don't give a shit about what colleges think of me. And C, this is the only time I've skipped school all year. Chill out."

"Don't tell me to 'chill out,' Beca," Dad said, not amused in the slightest. "Listen to me. I don't care that you don't care about college. That's what's going to happen, whether you like it or not, so you might as well get with the program. Speaking of which, how is the college search going?"

"College search is _amazing_," I said, rolling my eyes.

"Beca, what is going on with you?" Dad asked.

"Which part?"

"How many are there?"

"I think I'm a more complex person than you think I am."

"Well, what's going on with you today?" Dad rephrased.

"Today?" I said. Dad nodded. "Today, I feel like I couldn't do a single thing even if I wanted to. I don't feel like I could work on my music today."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm just a lazy-ass slacker. That's what you and Sheila think, isn't it?"

"Beca—"

"I tried to tell you the real reason, and it pisses me off that you didn't notice it yourself," I said.

"What is it, Beca?"

"I'm you're goddamn daughter! I shouldn't have to tell you this!" I exclaimed, about to burst into tears. "Why is it that you only pay attention to me or talk to me when you want to yell at me or force me into things that will make me miserable? Why don't you care about _me_? Why doesn't _anyone_ care about me?!" I looked at my dad's face and saw so little emotion. His lack of a reaction finally broke me. I buried my face in my hands and started to cry.

"Beca?" Dad said over my sobs, genuinely surprised. "Beca, stop crying."

"Why? So you can yell at me? So you can talk about _fucking_ college?" I said through my tears. "Just leave me alone!"

"Beca—"

"Get out!" I yelled, looking up at him with tears flowing down my cheeks. "Get out, and don't come back unless you want to talk about _me_!"

"I _am_ trying to talk about you, Beca. I don't understand what you want from me," Dad said.

"That's why I'm mad!" I exclaimed. "You don't want to talk about _me_. You want to talk about what _you_ want from me. It's about _you_! It always is! Nothing can ever be about me! Everyone else _always _comes first! I'm your _fucking _daughter! Why can't I come before anything, _anything _else?!"

"Okay, I don't know what's going on with you, Beca, but you're irrational and you don't know what you're talking about," Dad said.

"Don't tell me I don't know what I'm talking about!" I roared. "I know what I'm talking about more than you ever could!" I choked on a sob. "Just…Just get out! Get the _fuck_ out!"

"We'll talk about this later," Dad said as he left the room.

"Screw off!" I yelled after him. Once he was gone, I felt the tears begin to subside. I focused on regulating my breathing, in and out. I had never felt so furious.

"Fucking asshole," I muttered to myself. Then I looked down at my leg and saw the long, white scar that ran down my left calf and remembered that it was better have this asshole than the asshole before him.


End file.
